This week: rumors of war bribes
and Saharan dust so fine, it swirled
silica and watercolored sunrise. 

Meanwhile, I plan by myself
the lives I’ll lead someday, as if
I’m Benjamin Button, magically
mobile again. 

Every time I think of you,
there are so many yous I’ve failed
to communicate with–to commune,
a human need I’ve neglected,
mostly. 

I’ve been trying to poem all day long,
which is to say I sat in the dark
for a long time. 

Dear, dear reader-of-this-poem:
I’m trying to confer it all to you,
and I don’t know exactly
what to say.